


Phenomenal Cosmic Powers, Itty Bitty Living Space

by Lady_Ganesh



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Djinni & Genies, M/M, Multi, Spirits, Summer King - Freeform, Threesome - M/M/M, naming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:13:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2228610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the fading years of the 19th century, a man summons a djinn and makes a wish that's not so easy to grant.</p><p>Written for the "Fantasy AU" theme at Weiss vs. Saiyuki. Much is owed to <em>Aladdin</em> (including the title) and several more authentic historical sources (which is not to say this is historically authentic). Much is also owed to CaptainBlue for betaing, remaining mistakes are mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phenomenal Cosmic Powers, Itty Bitty Living Space

The second the air hit his skin, he knew he was still in England.

Fucking England. Too much water, the wrong kind of snakes, the people too pale. The djinn hated the island and everything on it. Still, it was good to be out of the lamp. It was good to take form again. He made certain he was visible and confronted the man standing before him.

His summoner looked like a glass of tepid water. His skin was pale, almost waxy. True to cliche, he had dropped the lamp in his shock, but as always, the damn thing refused to break. He was dressed in a suit in an unfamiliar cut, and wore small wire-rimmed spectacles. "My goodness," he said.

"Yes," he said. "I'm a djinn. Like in the stories. You’re not dreaming. Yes, you summoned me. It's not the rubbing. You have to have...never mind." The man clearly wasn't listening anyway, his eyes round with shock. His lips were pale, too.

"You get three wishes," the djinn said, holding his fingers up for emphasis. "Don't ask for more wishes. That's never been funny."

"Of course," the man said. Behind the spectacles, his eyes had more life than the djinn had originally realized. They were as deep a green as his skin was pale. "Are djinns obligated to honesty?"

"They are.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Don't expect exhaustive detail."

The man, who had recovered quickly, smiled. "I understand. Nonetheless. I wish that, ahead of any wish of mine, you warn me of any potential negative consequences of the wish."

A clever one. How delightful. "Granted," he said, and snapped his fingers.

"I have a friend," the man said. "A Mr. Alasdair Reuben. He...did me a great favor. I would like to repay that debt."

"That wish will not end well, I'll tell you that now."

"That...that would not be my wish. Not in those words, at any rate." His eyes darted to the floor. "I will need some time to think about this. How should I contact you? Do you...go back in the lamp?"

Back in the lamp. Back to nothingness. The djinn suppressed his shudder of horror. "Just summon me. I will be there."

"And how do I do that? Do I call you by name?"

"I have no name. You can call me 'djinn,' if you'd like."

"I will do so," he said. "Thank you."

"I am your servant," he said, "until the terminal wish."

He turned himself transparent and looked around. The house was small, but not uncomfortably so. A classic English countryside cottage, kept neat and clean. There were a few notes that sounded of the desert, though. The Persian rug, a hookah near the stove, an enameled cabinet covered in fine, bright lacquer. No doubt whoever had collected those things had taken his lamp as well.

The man who had summoned him had settled down on the settee. "Oh dear," he said to himself.

The djinn didn't have time for this kind of bullshit.

He wanted to know where he was.

It was simple enough to calculate his location. In fact, the place he sought wasn't more than twenty parasangs from his last place of service. Heh. _That_ man hadn't been as clever as the new master.

The rock wall that ringed the manor was still intact. "Oi," the djinn called. "Goku. You still there?"

The young man appeared, sitting on the wall with his legs crossed. He was smiling. His suit, too, had an unfamiliar cut. "Where would I go?"

"I freed you," he said, leaning against the stone. "Or, at any rate, that jackass Melchett did. You could have left."

"Where would I go?" Goku said. "I suppose I could go back home, but it's a long way, and it was five hundred years. Who would be left? Besides, rock’s heavy. It’d take forever."

He had a point. Goku was bound to his stone; it was part of him, far different than the djinn's own imprisonment. "How long has it been?"

"Since I saw you? Thirty years, more or less."

"Shit."

"It's good to see you," he said, gently.

They talked for a while. Little had changed for Goku, though the children at the manor house had grown to adulthood, and no longer came to play. "It's been a bit lonely at times," he said. "I'm glad you're back. Perhaps this one will take more time making up his mind."

"Perhaps," the djinn said. He no longer hoped. There was no point in it.

 _Djinn,_ he heard in his mind. _I...summon you?_

"I'll be back," he said, and returned to the cottage.

His summoner had not moved from the settee. "If," he said hesitantly, "I asked for my friend to have his heart's desire...what would the consequences of that be?"

The djinn closed his eyes and thought. "You might lose him," he said. "Would that be acceptable?"

"I feel I am a burden on him much of the time," the man said sadly. "I stay here only at his pleasure. If he needed to be free of me...it would be fine."

"This wish will take time," he said. "If you wish it done well."

"I have no objections to that," he said. He drew himself up and looked the djinn in the eye. "I wish that my friend would find happiness, and that you work with all the diligence necessary for it to be done well."

"As you wish, it shall be done," the djinn said, reclining his head. He felt the magic pulse through him.

This was no simple task, as most of the wishes were. This was going to be work.

 

He set about exploring the cottage, saving its second inhabitant for last. Alasdair Reuben was not English, or at least not wholly so. His eyes and hair were coal-dark, and his skin was a good shade darker than most of the men of the island. More like someone from home. He was dressed as an Englishman, though his suit was not as crisp as one might expect, and his hair looked as though it had been cut with garden shears. He looked up from his paperwork as the djinn entered. That indicated a certain amount of sensitivity on his part; many men would not notice him approaching.

"You're the djinn, right? Tristan said you might...be around."

The djinn nodded.

"Must be strange work, djinning."

"You could say that," the djinn said.

"So do I get a wish? He told me he gave me your wish."

"Not exactly," the djinn said, and allowed himself a smile. "He made the wish on your behalf."

"So what, you're doin' your due diligence? Enjoy the show." He glanced up at the djinn. "Yeah," he added. "I'm exactly what you're thinking. Neither fish nor fowl."

"Foul enough, I suspect," the djinn said sullenly.

"Funny." He rose from his chair. "Mother was a good white woman, a general's daughter. They disowned her, but there were no other heirs, so I ended up with this." He gestured at the cottage. "Most of the rest went to the lawyers, but I get by. The climate's shit, but it's free of memories."

The djinn suspected that Alasdair would never be free of memories, but there was no value in objecting.

"He said he made you explain any possible...problems."

"He did."

"Probably safer, him making the wish for me," he said, pulling a volume off his bookshelf and returning to his work. "Knowing my luck, I'd send it to hell, one way or another."

 

Usually a heart's desire was love, wealth, or death. He suspected Alasdair had had enough fuss with wealth to last a lifetime, which left the others. Most men wished for death, one way or another, at some point. But that would be an easy way out, and an easy way out was an easy way back into the accursed lamp.

Sooner or later, the pressure would force him to act, but he could take his time for a little while.

 

"Are you reading my Gazette?"

The djinn looked over the top of the paper at Alasdair. "I'm doing research. Is that a problem?"

Alasdair smirked at him. "Knock yourself out. Tristan doesn't seem in any hurry, and I guess I can't blame you for wanting to spend some time outside." He pushed his hair back from his face. "I'm goin' out to play cards. You want anything?"

The djinn shook his head. "I have no need to eat or drink."

"You sleep? I've been wondering if--"

"No," he said. "Enjoy your game."

"Are you _watching_ us sleep?"

"No!"

"Don't antagonize our guest," Tristan called from the kitchen.

 _"Guest,"_ Alasdair said, and left.

The djinn played cards with Tristan later, at the cottage, and was soundly beaten more than once. "The truth is," he had confessed one night, "he saved my life. I had been gravely injured, and I fully expected to die. Perhaps I wished or it. He's stubborn, though. Wouldn't let me. I suppose he was lonely."

“I see,” he said.

“We played cards together when I was convalescing.” Tristan allowed himself a smile, the most mirth the djinn had seen from him. “I won those games, as well.”

 

It lasted almost a month before the need started to burn in him, an obligation he could only ignore for so long until it took him over.

It had been good, but of course it would end. It always did. There was one wish remaining, though, and if he was lucky, he might be able to stay outside the lamp a bit longer while Tristan considered his final choice.

"Do you know what he wants?" Goku asked. He was swimming, his lithe form shimmering in the water.

The djinn stayed on the shore, his hand tapping absent-mindedly on Goku's rock. "I think they both want the same thing."

He'd suffered through dinner after dinner of two men looking at one another like they'd prefer each other as the main course. Night after night of Alasdair going out to play cards, while Tristan stayed home, nervous and anxious. Alasdair slept in late and smoked in bed. He ate Tristan's cooking with many compliments and few complaints, but he made both of them act gingerly at times.

They were unsettled, nervous, as if they were afraid pushing on their bond too much would cause it to break.

And then there were the odd moments of grace. The times when Tristan would cook something extraordinary and Alasdair’s face would light up as if he would never grow accustomed to such unearned pleasure. The times when all three of them would reach for the Gazette at once. The rare evenings when Alasdair stayed home and Tristan read the latest Dickens for them all.

"They keep surprising me," the djinn said.

"Ah," Goku said. _"That's_ it." He didn't bother hiding his amusement.

"If it weren't for me, you'd still be in a rock," the djinn grumbled.

"And you'd probably be talking to yourself."

"Do you want to see something I've learned in this country?" the djinn asked, holding his fingers up in a V.

Goku just laughed. "Now," he said. "Speaking of interesting, I met someone the other day. The Summer King. The old king, before the Christians came."

"Summer King?"

"Every spring they would choose a young man as his vessel. They would feed him, pamper him, fill him with wine. He would have his pick of lovers. If the harvest went well, he would be an honored official in his tribe, perhaps be a chieftain some day. If it did not--" He drew his finger across his throat. "An old tradition. With blood."

The djinn nodded. Once, long ago, he'd faced a similar offer. He had chosen another way. He should have been as clever as Tristan and asked for the catch.

 

 _It should be easy,_ he thought to himself. _But how to do it?_

Was the balance between them as fragile as they both thought it was? There was a test; it was a simple enough spell. He reached out his hand and spread the magic, and it shimmered before him.

Usually bonds were simple things, a thread or two. This...this was a rope.

An axe wouldn't sever this.

 

"The problem," he told Goku later that day, "is that they're idiots."

"Isn't that usually the problem?"

"It's a special case."

"It's the English," Goku said. "They're all repressed."

"They spend their days making eyes at each other and their nights wondering what the other might want."

"Just set them up. Do the dream thing."

"That...." _That's stupid,_ he almost said, and then he thought better of it. "In this idiotic country love between men is forbidden, and Alasdair thinks no one will love him, thanks to the vagaries of his parentage...so you’re right. It might work."

"Does he really look so exotic?"

The djinn shrugged. "I suppose to English eyes. He looks a bit English to mine." He snapped his fingers and Alasdair's image appeared.

"He's handsome," Goku said.

"Shut up."

"Are they both that handsome?"

The djinn sighed and snapped his fingers once more. Tristan's image joined his friend's.

Goku whistled. "I'm startin' to see why this is taking you so long."

He ignored the dig. "I'd string it out for _any_ idiots to stay out of that fucking lamp."

Goku grew more serious at that. "Maybe I can get the Summer King to seduce a girl. Or a guy. They could sneak in. Steal your lamp."

"It wouldn't work. She'd want eternal beauty or some bullshit." Now _there_ was a wish that never ended well. Last time he'd served seventy years with some asshole and a sculpture. What a relief when someone finally took a sledgehammer to the fucking thing.

"Maybe they'll be so grateful they'll set you free."

"You know that's never happened."

"It might have. You don't know."

"Don't," he said.

"Sorry," Goku said.

"It's fine," he said. "Where is your Summer King? You speak of him more and more often."

Goku smiled, a young lover's smile, though he likely didn't realize it. "He's not like us. He has to follow the sun. I'm sure you'll see him soon enough. Come when the sun is shining."

"I will if I can."

"And good luck," he said. "However you grant that wish."

 

He'd put it off long enough anyway. Goku was right. Let them both think they were dreaming, light some incense, watch the magic happen. Alasdair would have his heart's desire, and Tristan's wish would be granted. The obligation would start to burn unbearably in him if he stalled much longer. No more wasting time.

"I think," he said to Tristan, "that I finally have the answer."

"I'm glad," Tristan said.

"You must drink this tonight," he said, handing Tristan a glass. "In dreams Alasdair will find the answer to his heart's desire."

Tristan frowned at the clear liquid. "And why must _I_ drink?"

"Otherwise," he said, "the workings of the spell might disturb you. This will guarantee you will sleep heavily."

"All right," Tristan said. "But you will not hurt him?"

"You have my word," he said.

Tristan raised the glass to his lips.

Tristan was already asleep when Alasdair returned, smelling of pipe smoke and beer. "What's up?"

"A nightcap," he said, handing Alasdair the glass, "and your dreams will give you what you seek."

Alasdair took the glass. "Wasn't aware I was seeking anything."

The djinn shrugged. "Just drink it."

Alasdair chuckled. "Yeah, fine." He tipped the glass up and drank deeply.

 

Tristan woke first, to the smell of burning incense and a low haze in the room. The djinn had planned carefully, making sure the drug in the wine still clouded his perceptions, but only slightly, and had lit enough lamps to give the bed they shared a warm, deep glow. "Dreaming," he murmured to himself. "Of course."

The djinn, in the sitting room, smiled to himself.

"I suppose he's awake too," he said. "Usually...."

 _Usually._ He'd had this dream before. Interesting. The djinn turned another page of the _Gazette_ and read on.

"Alasdair," Tristan said softly. "Are you awake?"

"Hn," came the reply.

Tristan's voice was softer still. "I thought...I thought you might like some companionship."

"Tris?"

The djinn put his paper down. If he was doing the work, he'd best check and make sure they were actually screwing, and not just staring at one another again.

He made sure he was transparent, and walked to the bedroom.

 

As he reached the door, he heard Tristan laugh, not the embarrassed chuckle he was accustomed to. It sounded real.

He sounded delighted.

The djinn watched them move together, kissing hungrily, Alasdair's hands roaming Tristan's back, grabbing fistfuls of Tristan's pajama top and then letting go to grab at the fabric all over again.

"Good?" Alasdair said, when they parted, each taking deep gulps of air.

"You--" Tristan said. "Have you ever--"

"Ever what?" Alasdair grinned at him.

"I've never been with a man before," he said. "I am not certain--"

"Don't worry," Alasdair said. "You'll figure it out." He reached out and pulled Tristan's pajama top over his head.

"You are so kind," Tristan said. "Impossibly kind."

"Needy," he said. "That's what I am. God, you're beautiful."

"Take your pants off," Tristan murmured.

 _I should stop watching,_ the djinn thought to himself.

Alasdair wiggled out of his pants and tossed them onto the floor. "You think he's watching?"

"He?" Tristan looked confused, and then recognition dawned on him. "Oh."

Alasdair laughed. "Yes. Him."

"I'm sure--" he gasped. "I'm sure I don't know--"

Alasdair laughed again, and his hand was moving down, and they moved together, rutting like animals, gasping for breath between kisses. They rode each other to completion, Tristan trying not to curse, Alasdair stroking his hair and murmuring something low.

The djinn felt the obligation under his skin fading.

"We've made rather a mess of the bed," Tristan said.

"We've got more messes to make," Alasdair said, and it was strange, but not unpleasant, to hear them both so content, if only for the moment. "But hey, if this is your dream, aren't you missing something?"

"I can't think of anything I could possibly be missing," he said.

"Really?"

Alasdair looked incredibly wicked. "But there's only two of us, Tristan."

"There's no one else I want."

"You sure? What about our guest?"

Tristan's eyes went wide. "I couldn't possibly--"

"It's a dream, isn't it? Just don't 'wish' it, you'll be fine."

"Djinn?" Tristan's voice was tentative. "If you...we would not be--"

"Oh, for God's sake," Alasdair said. "Djinn, are you listening?"

The djinn hesitated. His duty was to ensure the wish was granted, no more, and that had been certain at the moment Alasdair took Tristan into his arms.

He needed to do no more.

But Tristan had laughed.

 

The bed creaked dangerously at his weight. "Don't waste your last wish fixing the bed," Alasdair warned, as he stretched a hand out to the djinn. "We'll manage."

"It's my dream," Tristan declared with pleasure. "It won't break." He put a hand on the djinn's shoulder and pulled him closer.

He kissed Tristan first, and Tristan felt hungry, eager, his hands surprisingly strong. Alasdair pulled at his ponytail, tugging it loose, letting the djinn's hair drape over his shoulders.

"That's better," Alasdair said, with satisfaction. "Now let's get your trousers off."

The djinn kissed Alasdair to stop him talking, and Tristan pulled eagerly at his own pajamas. The djinn heard them hit the floor. Alasdair was pulling him down, closer, so their bare chests were touching.

"Shit," Alasdair said, and found the tie at the djinn's silk trousers. "I gotta do everything myself, Tris?"

"I'm...a bit distracted, you know."

Alasdair put a hand on each of the djinn's hipbones and looked down, eyeing the djinn's swelling cock. "Yeah, okay."

Alasdair grabbed the trousers from behind and pulled them free of the djinn's body. "Oh," he said.

"What were you expecting?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Tristan said.

"But we're impressed," Alasdair added, pulling an arm around the djinn's waist and kissing him again. The djinn could feel Tristan moving behind him, his arms passing the djinn and reaching to touch Alasdair, who bucked against the sensation.

"I'm not sure the bed's large enough for three," Tristan said uncertainly.

The djinn snorted and snapped his fingers. The bed widened beneath them.

"Can you do that with everything?" Alasdair said, speculatively.

"I don't think you could handle anything bigger."

Alasdair barked a laugh and wriggled out from underneath him. "All right, enough play. I'm going to get serious now."

"Can you?" the djinn said, arching his eyebrow, but Alasdair was already moving, joining with Tristan to slide the djinn on his back.

"We've already finished, remember?" Tristan chided. "It's your turn."

As he spoke, Alasdair was already sliding down his body, opening his mouth wide to take the djinn in. The djinn opened his mouth to speak, but Tristan covered it too quickly, and his kiss drove any words from the djinn's mind.

Food and drink were as ashes in his mouth, but this still brought pleasure. He could still taste the wine on Tristan's breath and feel the wet, hot suction at his cock. Tristan was pushing his hair back from his face, and his kisses became quick and light, covering his face, his chin, his neck. His voice was a half-whisper. "Does this please you, then?"

"Yes," he said. His hand was on Alasdair's head, his fingers carding through his soft, thick hair. That pleasure was almost as good as what Alasdair was doing to his cock. Almost.

And then both the sensations were denied him, and he could not stop a frustrated groan from escaping his throat. "You should have a taste, as well," Alasdair said to Tristan. "It is no labor, certainly."

"I suppose I cannot deny such a request," Tristan said. "That is, if our guest agrees."

"Hurry up and do it," the djinn groaned.

Tristan laughed again, and Alasdair caught him up in a kiss before they changed duties, Tristan kneeling at the foot of the newly expanded bed, naked and impossibly lovely, his skin glowing in the moonlight. Both Alasdair and the djinn watched him for a moment as he sunk down, licking at the tip of the djinn's cock at first, then bending to take him in fully. His mouth was hotter and drier than Alasdair's, but hardly displeasing. The djinn cried out, closing his eyes in surprise, and he heard Alasdair chuckle.

"You seem well in hand," Alasdair said softly. "Perhaps I should take care of Tristan."

The djinn opened his eyes to see Alasdair, standing near the food of the bed. His eyes were focused, intently, on Tristan's round, white buttocks. "Perhaps you should," he said.

Alasdair looked up to face the djinn, his face alight with pleasure. "So I will," he said. "Might you avail me of--"

The djinn snapped his fingers, and a jar landed in Alasdair's hands. "That should suffice."

"Sometimes it's not all bad, having you around," Alasdair said, grinning wickedly. He dipped his fingers into the jar, making a little show of how slick the oil was. "Yeah, this'll work fine."

The djinn didn't see when Alasdair slid his fingers into Tristan, but he felt it; Tristan's mouth stilled entirely for a moment, and then his mouth slid the djinn's cock even more deeply in.

 

After that, things seemed to move much more quickly, Alasdair taking Tristan's hips and pushing his cock in, Tristan sucking at him hungrily, deeply.

"You're tight," Alasdair said. "God, so good. So--"

Tristan finished first, to the djinn's surprise, moaning around the djinn's cock as though he too was surprised by the orgasm. Alasdair followed just afterward, and the djinn let himself release, then, into Tristan's waiting mouth.

"You son of a bitch," Alasdair said, catching his breath. "You can control it?"

The djinn just smiled.

They slipped from one another's embrace slowly after that, fingers brushing hair, lips pressing reverently to skin.

"I'll -- I'll just be back in a moment," Tristan said, sounding a bit embarrassed, but pleased. He disappeared, no doubt in the direction of the privy.

Alasdair shifted his weight a little and put an arm around the djinn, pulling him closer. "Going a bit above and beyond for this one, aren't you?"

The djinn stiffened. "What are you talking about?"

"Kind of an old trick, huh?" Alasdair kept his voice low. "Burn something sweet, cast a little bit of a spell, he thinks he's dreaming, does everything he wouldn't do when he was awake. I ain't complaining, exactly. Just...kind of surprised."

"How long have you known?"

"My dreams are never so sweet, djinn," Alasdair said, ruefully. He pressed a kiss to the djinn's shoulder. "Wasn't sure you could...perform, though."

"I'm a djinn, not an automaton."

"We didn't-- you still chose to join in, though, right?" His voice grew uncertain. "I didn't--"

"I chose this, Alasdair. As much as I am able to choose anything, this was my choice. Do not torment yourself."

"All right." Alasdair stroked his side, gently. "Were you human? Or have you always been....?"

"I was human, once."

"How did you--"

"I don't remember it that well any more. It's been...a very long time."

"How long you been in England?"

"Perhaps a century."

"I didn't think they were real. Djinni, I mean. No offense."

"Most people don't. It's easier that way. People spend their whole lives rubbing lamps and thinking something's going to happen."

"What does it? You can't just--rub it, right?"

"There has to be an intention. An unmet need."

"So...Tristan needed something."

"Of course."

Alasdair’s hand dipped lower. "And his need, plus the rubbing-- this is starting to sound kinda dirty."

"Everything sounds dirty coming out of your mouth."

"You weren't complaining ten minutes ago."

"Maybe," he said, turning in Alasdair's arms, "I should just shut you up."

"Won't complain," he said, pulling the djinn's mouth to his.

The djinn wondered, not for the first time, why the magic that had taken so much from him had left him with this desire, and these powers. But that didn't matter now. The heat was rising again, and he let it take him.

 

Eventually, Tristan and Alasdair fell asleep, curled together, and the djinn rose. He thought about going to see Goku, but Goku needed to sleep.

He walked out into the yard instead, and sat with his back to the wall.

Some time later, he heard the door open.

"Was that really my wish?" Tristan said.

"Your wish was for him to have his heart's desire," the djinn said, looking out at the sunrise. "And it was you. It's not my fault you were both too stupid to see it."

"I'm making breakfast," he said. "I know you don't eat, but would you like to come in? I'd like to ask you something."

"If you'd like."

Tristan cooked eggs, and thick-cut bacon, and other horrors of an English breakfast. It smelled all right, though. Alasdair got up, his bathrobe pulled loosely around his body, and kissed them both good morning. Somehow, that turned into more kissing, falling back into bed, the food forgotten as they stripped one another afresh.

It was mid-morning before Tristan and Alasdair decided they must eat. The bacon could be salvaged, but the eggs were beyond recovery.

"Don't worry about it," Alasdair said. "We can afford a few extra eggs." He slid his arms around Tristan, threatening to distract him from the meal yet again.

"Indeed we can," Tristan said, but his tone was distant.

"What troubles you?" Alasdair said, pressing a kiss to his neck.

"Djinn," Tristan said. "I said I would speak with you."

"You did," the djinn said, putting aside his _Peking Gazette,_ a journal that Goku had recommended and a reasonably engaging read.

"What would happen," Tristan asked, "if I wished for you to be set free?"

"Do not joke about such things," the djinn said, keeping his face solid as stone.

"I would not," he said. "Tell me."

"I would be free," he said. "My power would be diminished, but it would not fade completely. I could...I could live as I chose."

"Would you be mortal?"

"I am honestly not sure," he said. "But I would not crumble to dust the second the wish was granted, if that's your question."

"You would desire it?"

"Even if it did bring my death I would desire it," he said. "You are kind, but this is not freedom."

"Then I wish it," Tristan said.

The djinn knew he should not hesitate, but the shock of it clouded his mind. "You are certain?"

"I have only one remaining wish," Tristan said. "And I have all I need."

"You flatter me," Alasdair said.

"It is the truth."

The djinn, meanwhile, was already feeling the change. He felt dizzy.

"You're welcome to stay," Alasdair said. "Long as you like. Plenty of room in the cottage. In...in bed, too. If you want."

"Only if you want," Tristan added hastily. "I granted you freedom, not obligation."

"I understand," the djinn said, wondering if he was going to be sick all over the Persian carpet. "I...I need some time."

"Of course," Tristan said, but the djinn was already moving, out of the cottage, into the air, gasping to draw breath into lungs unused to labor, feeling his heart pound for the first time in a thousand years.

When he had finally calmed, he sought out Goku. He was in a patch of sunlight, with a fresh-faced man with bright red hair. He could have been seventeen or twenty-five, and he didn't quite look English.

"The Summer King," he said.

"That is I, djinn," the Summer King said, rising and bowing. "It is a pleasure to--"

"You've changed," Goku said, all but pushing his friend aside in his eagerness. "Djinn, are you--"

"I am," he said, too overwhelmed to say anything more. "I am free."

Goku all but leapt into his arms. "I am so glad, dear friend," he said. "So glad."

"I think," the Summer King said, "I should go, for now. I will see you again, djinn."

The djinn nodded, grateful for the Summer King's kindness. He was unused to the emotion, but he realized he was going to have to become accustomed to it, at least for a little while.

Goku said little more, letting him sit with his emotions, adjusting to the changes that were slowly winding their way through his body and soul. "It will take a long time," he said, as the light faded. "Your mind is so accustomed to being trapped you no longer realize how tightly you have circumscribed yourself. But it will happen. You will feel it, every day, for a long while. It's good."

"I know," the djinn said. "I remember, from when you were freed."

"And the others," Goku said. He had rested his head in the djinn's lap, and together they watched as the ducks began to nest for the night.

He stroked at Goku's hair. Did its texture feel different now, or was that his imagination? "I didn't know them as well as you."

"That's true," he said. "Will they let you stay with them?"

"As long as I might wish."

"I'm glad."

"There is one thing--" He paused. It seemed trivial, in the weight of all that had happened.

"What is it?"

"It's stupid," he said.

"Never stopped you before."

The djinn snorted. "Still."

"Tell me."

"It's my name," he said. "I lost it, when I was enslaved. I was just 'the djinn.' And now...."

"I could give you one," Goku said. "If you wanted. I mean, I've been calling you stuff in my head for years."

"Like what?"

Goku thought. "Chinese names. I don't know. You don't exactly look Chinese."

"I don't look like I belong here, no matter what you call me."

Goku turned a little, lifting his head to speak. "I thought maybe Chan. It's simple."

"What's it mean?"

"It's a cicada. An insect. They...have a lot of meanings for us. Change. Long life. Wisdom."

The djinn shook his head. "And you think of me?"

"You've earned it," Goku said. "How many of us have you freed?"

"I don't know," he said.

"I could come up with others," Goku said. "But...I don't know. I think of a golden cicada, and it feels right. And like I said, it's simple enough that even the English might actually remember it."

"I'll consider it," he said. "Thank you."

"Just bring 'em sometime," Goku said. "I wanna meet 'em."

"Yeah," he said. "I will."

When he took his leave of Goku, he chose to walk. It took an obscene amount of time, but it felt good. It felt real. And he had to be more careful with his magic now. He would need rest, and food, and all the things he was no longer accustomed to. He would need to....

Well. He would need to _live._

They had lit the lamp at the cottage door. He considered for a while, then knocked.

Tristan's tense face eased when he saw him. "We were afraid you wouldn't return," he said.

"Where else would I go?"

"Home, I suppose."

"I haven't had one in centuries. Just...just a prison."

"At any rate," Tristan said, stepping back to let him in, "I'm glad to see you. We held our supper, just in case."

"Supper." He could smell the roast, had been able to since the path turned from the road. "I haven't--" His stomach growled, and he laughed with surprise. "I haven't been hungry in centuries, either."

"Then you'll no doubt be hungry now," Tristan said, not unkindly.

"I suppose I am," he said.

"Finally home?" Alasdair called from the stove.

"And starving," Tristan added.

"We all are," Alasdair said, rising.

"I told you we needn't wait much longer," Tristan chided. "Sit at the table, I'll serve."

"Thank you," Chan said.

"Don't worry," Alasdair said, pulling his chair back. "You'll make it up in chores soon enough."

"Don't," Tristan said. "Not tonight."

"If you don't mind your dishes washed with magic, I'll do the damn things every night," Chan said.

"Deal," said Alasdair, and they ate.


End file.
